


When I was not a fighter

by imsfire



Series: Celebrate Rogue One characters 2018 [12]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Baze joins the rebels, Chirrut Imwe (mentioned) - Freeform, Gen, Survivor Guilt, grief and grieving, memories of home, mentions of the Jedhan and Alderaanian genocides, moment of self-doubt, sharing doubts and fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15140105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: Baze Malbus has a moment of self-doubt when he's asked to sign-up with the rebels, and remembers who he was long ago, before he became a warrior, when he had a home.





	When I was not a fighter

**Author's Note:**

> For week five of Celebrate Rogue One on tumblr; theme, Baze and home.

“Stay?  Yes, of course I’ll stay.  Where else can I go, if not here?” The burly man shook his head thoughtfully, raised his hand to the burned area of his scalp and pulled back again in time not to scratch the bacta patch plastered there. “My husband is here, my friends are here.  The last fighters of Jedha are here.  How else am I to avenge what’s been destroyed?  The innocents killed?  Of course I’ll stay.”

He raised his other hand, tugging at the remaining tangle of dreadlocks.  Picked up the data-pad and read a few lines, then set it down in front of him, and began to fidget with it, shifting it from side to side fretfully. 

“Master Baze?” said Calloo, the recruiting Sgt, after a moment. “Can I help with anything?”

Baze sighed deeply, grimacing at the pad.

“Did you have any other questions I can answer for you?  I’m happy to help if I can.  If –“ a sudden thought struck the young man “- if there’s a problem with taking the oath, with you being a religious man and that, I’m sure we can find a way round it.  Change the wording, maybe; or you can affirm it somehow, or something –“

“No.  No, no problem with oaths.  The problem is – what am I going to do?” Baze shrugs. “I’m not going to be much use to you.”

“Sir?” He’d seen the big Jedhan shooting on the range.  Not much use?  The man was as skilled a sniper as any as he’d seen.

“I’m a capable marksman,” Baze Malbus said, nodding slowly to himself “but you have others as good.  And I’m not good at following orders.  I work best alone.  Alone or with Chirrut.  So you can’t put me in some regular brigade.  But you can’t send me out alone either.  I’m not like the Captain.”

No need to ask which Captain he meant; every one of the survivors from Scarif meant just one man when they said that. 

“No-one looking like me would ever make an assassin,” Baze said with a wry smile. “They’re meant to be unnoticeable, after all.  Shadowy.  Not a job for a big bantha-ox like me.”  He leaned back in his seat, still staring at the data-pad.  “I’m no slicer and I never had the patience to learn to build bombs, and I’m certainly no pilot.  I was never more than adequate at zama-shiwo.”

“Zama-?”

His puzzled tone brought the Guardian’s head up.  There was an amused look in his eye for a second. “Huh.  You wait.  When Chirrut is up and about again, you’ll see.  It isn’t a fighting form for a big man like me, but Chirrut…”

“What did you do before you were a fighter?” Calloo asked. “At home, before the war began?  I’m sure you must have lots of skills we need, sir.”

 _Sir_ wasn’t strictly necessary, after all Master Baze was technically a civilian; but he was also most certainly a respected elder.  He had the presence of a general; or a wise old king out of a folk-tale.

“I was a Temple Guardian.  And before that, a monk.  The things I was good at were learned for a dead shrine in a dead city.”

A wise, heartbroken old king, who had seen his land and his people destroyed.  It hurt to think about it; just as so much was hurting, lately, even though in theory they had won their first victory, but -

“My grandparents were from Alderaan,” Calloo said.  “I – I mean, I know it’s not the same thing, and they- they moved to Corulag when I was a boy, they’re okay, but – a dead world, dead cities, dead everything, it’s – it’s like part of me has been chopped off.  And yet I can’t look the real Alderaanians on base in the eye, because all I’ve lost is a bit of my history.  They survived, my abuelos, they're alive.  I should be fine, not grieving, not in shock, I’ve no right to - am I even making sense?”

Baze shifted in his seat and put his head on one side, looking the young man up and down and thinking. “No-one is an island, nor a meteor flying alone through the heavens.  We’re all part of one another.  These acts, these genocides, these _biocides_ , diminish us all.”

“Yes.” It was such a relief, finally, to feel able to tell someone even that he felt affected at all.  And to be heard with this tone of understanding; and by a Jedhan, a survivor of the Empire’s second-worst massacre, a man whose home had been reduced to dust and lightning...  He wanted to weep with shame and gratitude.

“I wasn’t a soldier,” he said. “Before.  I was a kindergarten teacher.  First person in my family to get a college degree.  But I couldn’t sit back and ignore what’s happening, so I’ve – I’ve tried to learn to be useful here.  It still feels all wrong sometimes, like I’ll wake up tomorrow and find a room full of little ones waiting for me to teach them their Aurebesh.”

Guardian Baze Malbus sighed again. “I’m sorry.  At least I’m a fighter by nature.  For you it must be hard.” He picked up the data-pad and the stylus beside it; carefully wrote the letters of his fore-name and then stopped, looking at it.  “Calligraphy,” he said. “My calligraphy used to be commended.  When I was not a fighter.  I was a calligrapher, and a dancer.  It’s a long time ago now.  But that’s what I was.” He looked up, and smiled, the careful, thoughtful smile of someone who has known little occasion for happiness. “If you win, there’ll be plenty of work for you, young man.  People have offspring after wars.  They’ll need infant teachers.  And who knows? - maybe one day someone will want to learn how to tell the tale of Karantali the Young Hero in fan-dance again.”

He signed the pad, firmly, and handed it back. “Meanwhile, we are fighters.  Will you administer the oath to me now, little brother?”


End file.
